


Once upon a paragon

by peonydee



Series: fried donuts and steamed buns [6]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic Fluff, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6566860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peonydee/pseuds/peonydee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette has a bone to pick with Adrien</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once upon a paragon

The baby was asleep, but Marinette wasn't. There wasn't reason for her to fret, of course, as Marinette knew from the gentle wisdom of her mother's advice and the even gentler exuberance of her husband's research. Their Emma would spend her first few days sleeping, waking only to express discomfort, whether from hunger or gas pains or soiled diapers. Marinette certainly didn't begrudge her daughter her sleep.

What filled her with chagrin was the way her eyes refused to close, her brain to wind down for sleep. Even with the grit that seemed to scrape her eyeballs raw with each blink, she couldn't keep her eyes closed, couldn't keep them from drifting over to the tiny shifts of the swaddled form on the bassinet beside her. Her mind twitched from one planned task to the next, barely making headway into one coherent thought before hitting some imagined snag, be it her lack of processing power or a tangential point that barreled her progress to bits. And while the wonder, the tinge of fear, and adoration for the new addition to her life remained a constant undertone even to all this, she knew she needed rest. Emma would awaken in an hour or two, hungry.

They had coaxed her mother home three days after they had gone home from the hospital---such bravado, it felt to her, during pockets of frustration like this. Mom would drop by during the day, after the breakfast rush tapered to a steady flow of customers, foremost to dote on her first grandchild but also to ensure Marinette had everything she needed. For all her mother's wealth of practical knowledge, there are some things that she and Emma simply needed to learn by trying and trying again.

And Adrien, she supposed.

Marinette found her eyes betraying her a second time that night. The prick of tears felt like jabs from red-hot needles, adding salt to injury, and she knew she couldn't possibly blame this on her exhaustion. She needed a frank talk with her husband, sooner rather than later, or... or... well, who knew what could happen? She couldn't just risk that, whatever it was.

It was almost superfluous, saying it: Adrien was on his way to becoming Best Dad In the Whole Wide World™. Without a doubt, he was as utterly in love with Emma as much as she was. He probably had less sleep than even she did, insisting on their half established pattern of him waking up to feed Emma the two ounces of milk formula prescribed to supplement Marinette's own inconstant supply. Him getting up to clean the baby's soiled diaper in between feedings. Him staying up to comfort her when she fussed for reasons unbeknownst to her parents. A month left, he would singsong to his girls every morning at six, just a month left before his paternity leave took effect.

The two hour commute back and forth the university must be interminable. How he could concentrate on all those numbers and the complicated abstract ideas they represented was beyond Marinette. Was this really his norm, this constant grind, this capacity to steal rest whenever a lull in activity allowed him to, this ability to keep full throttle for however long it was demanded of him? Whether as a particle physicist candidate or as a teen model or as a lone scion to a fashion empire or as one-half of a superhero duo, his ability to multitask was unreal.

Adrien would come home at five every evening, still ticking, still alert, still infuriatingly easy on the eyes. He would greet his wife and daughter with the same purring excitement he bid them goodbye with that morning. Marinette echoed his excitement the first few heartbeats, the first few weeks, because it was such a relief to have another person to speak with, have another person around, period. And then he would roll up his sleeves, offer her time to shower or take a walk, and finish washing the pots she left half soaped when Emma woke up for lunch earlier. Or sort out the bills and correspondence Marinette had intended to, long forgotten and spread out in the kitchen nook. Or stir fry the thawed chicken strips with the vegetables she had chopped an hour ago. Or boil the rice she had left soaking three hours ago.

“Go to bed, my lady,” he would coax her after dinner, but he never did join her early enough.

Early enough for what?

For nothing in particular, she thought in frustration. That was it. To do nothing. To just be. With her. To lay beside her and _be_.

Only Marinette had no clue how to articulate that desire in a way that didn't make her sound like the spoiled princess that he usually treated her as when he thought he could get away with it. What was she supposed to say, for god’s sake, chaton, let the scalloped potatoes turn to barnacles on that baking dish and get some rest, when it was more than likely going to be him scraping it clean with steel wool tomorrow evening? Stay with me, handsome boy, when the last thing he probably wanted right now was be with another person for more than five minutes? Couldn't she even give him an hour of peace devoid of any stimulation from another human being?

Even if it meant accepting that for those few minutes he preferred the company of eBay and Amazon and whatever other website, wasn't she being over-sensitive and utterly selfish for feeling angry and avoided and ignored and neglected..? Honestly, she thought the emotional roller coaster was supposed to have ended after her body expelled the last of the placenta. Was it the caprice of holding Adrien’s rapt attention for nearly her every waking moment (and likely quite a number of sleeping ones) while she was pregnant and irrationally feeling as if she has since been shunted aside now that she has delivered his child?

With an exasperated huff, Marinette rolled out of bed to look for her husband, unsure of what to say but unwilling to wallow in her muddled thoughts a second longer. She pulled the blanket off the bed and used it as a wrapper around her pajamas, before padding to his makeshift home office, a corner coffee table in the living room with a slender stool that could be stashed underneath when not in use. His long legs were stretched to one side of the table, his body reclined and supported by an elbow on the sofa arm behind him, while his other hand scrolled briskly through a page of what appeared to be timers.

“What are you doing?”

She grimaced as soon as the words slipped her mouth, not meaning to start their conversation with an accusatory note. He straightened immediately, whether from her tone or her expression, already half risen from his perch to meet her.

“Mari,” he said. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I'm fine. Are you?”

He blinked, kept mum for a judicious few heartbeats before probing. “I'm also fine. Emma?”

“Emma is sleeping, like we both should be?”

He chuckled ruefully, in spite of himself, the laugh lines revealing an exhaustion echoing hers. “Sleep would be amazing. I promise to let you catch up more over the weekend. I'm just finishing up on something.”

“It's not work, is it? And even if it is…”

“No, no, not work. I'll be along, lovebug. You really should catch some shut-eye. Emma’ll probably wake up hungry in another hour or so.”

“You, too. I insist. Come to bed now.”

Perhaps, it was the forced casualness in her tone that gave her inner turmoil away. Perhaps, it was remnants of his weird sixth sense for incoming danger as Chat Noir. Perhaps, it was because perfection took no beautyrest. Adrien turned completely to her, brows furrowed, the downward curve of his mouth earnest.

“Have I done something, Mari?”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Adrien! This is why I can't talk to you about anything!”

“My lady…?”

“Don't. Just stop right there. Just… I don't know. Just come to bed.”

“Marinette.”

She turned from him, ears hot with frustration and unshed tears, knowing he could reach her in two easy steps. His warm hand came to hover over her lower back, its default position for the past several months. She hunched away from it, hunched around the unbearable, inexplicable hurt expanding from her chest.

“You're overwrought. You're just too exhausted, aren't you? That's it; I'm calling out tomorrow. Sit down first, love, and calm--”

Marinette spun around and shoved at her idiot husband’s chest.

“Mari…?” He stared at her wide-eyed from where he was sprawled on the sofa, having fallen over the armrest.

“You're just an Energizer bunny, aren't you? You don't get tired. You don't get angry. You don't get frustrated. You're just this perfect paragon, aren't you? You're unreal, Adrien! And stop! Stop looking at me like I'm some sort of animal abuser, yanking your tail out. Oh, will you just come to bed right now? You need rest, too, whether you like it or not.”

She heard him scramble after her, followed by a series of crashes. They both froze in comic tandem, both looked and strained towards their bedroom, dreading to hear the piercing cries of their newborn. They both relaxed at the continued silence. Marinette sighed and struggled to rescue her fallen husband.

“What did I do?” he asked like the hurt kitten that he was, even as she harrumphed eloquently in response, managing to untangle him from throw pillows and a rug and getting him back on the sofa. “My lady, please.”

“I was mad you,” she said. Despite yet another long suffering sigh, she allowed him to enfold her into his arms, allowed him to minutely study her face as they spoke.

“But what did I do? You have to tell me so I can make amends.”

“Because I'm so tired and you don't seem to be.”

“Huh?”

“And because you're doing everything and I feel useless.”

“Useless? Marinette, that's absurd--”

“See? And you don't even agree with my self-assessment.”

Despite himself, Adrien did start laughing.

“And you're laughing at me.”

“I'm laughing at you because you’re such a perfectionist.”

“I'm the perfectionist?”

“Babe.”

“And you think I'm being completely ridiculous right now, don't you?”

“Only a little bit. What do you mean by paragon? The last time I checked I’m as new to all this as you are.”

“I mean you, mister overachieving paragon dad in the world.”

“Well, thanks awfully. I'm taking my cue for everything from you, don't you know? You should give yourself more credit.”

“You should give me some of your energy. How can you be not tired?”

“But I am tired! The only thing keeping me going is knowing you're tenfold more tired and you don't get breaks and your body is still recovering--”

“I don't understand how you can even do math without falling asleep.”

“I wear paper clips on my ears to keep awake! And computers. Computers make really obnoxious noises when you press the wrong keys and does really obnoxious things to your data when you don't stay awake. Mari, what the heck is going on?”

“I miss you, you stupid cat. Why don't you come to bed and catch up on sleep with me?  
I promise not to keep you up talking or anything.”

“Um, it's a secret?”

Marinette glared at him till he wilted. After the way she had embarrassed herself, succumbing to that tantrum that admittedly had her feeling better, there was no way she was letting him off the hook so easily.

“All right, my lady, I'll show you.”

Adrien released her briefly to reach for his laptop, which was now sitting precariously near the coffee table’s edge, collateral damage from his earlier collapse. He clicked on a few things on the open browser then turned the laptop so the screen faced her.

“It's out of stock everywhere. Or rather, they stopped making it two years ago.”

It appeared to be a stuffed toy in the likeness of--really, she should have expected this, the spazz--a ladybug. Its soft body was black while the plastic wings were in red, dotted with black spots. Admittedly, it would be a sweet addition to Emma’s nursery.

“Oh, it's one of those night light toys,” Marinette said, remembering TV spots and accompanying jingles from way back when she was in colleges probably.

“You remember?” Adrien was obviously pleased about it. “It took me a while to find some online. And now there's a bid war playing out. Or was, anyway. I got outbid.”

“That is cute, but is there another reason you really want it?”

“My mother got me one when I was seven. I loved it, but I was probably a little too old for it by then.”

“So you want to get an exaggerated head start for your daughter. She can't even make out our faces yet.”

“Well, it's taking me a while to track one down. I mean one that's the right color and style.”

“You don't have the one your mom gave you, stashed somewhere in your dad’s house?”

“It doesn't light up anymore. I kinda gutted Twilight Palomino’s belly for its mechanical parts.”

“Great my husband was secretly a mad scientist before he became a teen model-slash-superhero. No wonder you took to the transformation sequence like a duck to water.”

“I… What?”

“Plagg told me.” A quick search produced similar products. “You don't like these other brands?”

“Nah. This specific one projects constellations up on the ceiling.”

“Oh, I understand what you’re saying. Well if you make me a star chart you’d like followed, I can modify one of these to make it more like the constellation one you have your kitty heart set on. I'll sew it up, and you figure out the lighting parts. We can even model it after Tikki instead or even Plagg.”

“Sometimes you're so disgustingly clever, Mari.”

“So now can we please go to bed?”

“Fine.” He took unscrupulous advantage of their close position and brushed his lips against the fullest part of her pout. “We’ll table the paragon digs discussion for tonight.”

“My, chapped lips. How the beautiful have fallen. Your fanbase will riot at my inattention.”

“Hm.” He kissed her again, but in a cautious way that suggested he was catching and noting each and every “paragon dig” she made. She really was too tired, they both were, and an exposition on said paragon digs would involve a long argumentative discussion about Mari’s insecurities and Adrien’s insecurities and their perfectionist streaks and their deep-seated need to be indispensable, and man, were they just two peas in a pod. “I can't get through a day without you, bugaboo. You know that, right?”

And his sweet-talking. They need to talk about this sweet talk to distract tactic of his.

“You can't fault me for wanting to impress Emma. I mean her mother’s a tour de force, an unparalleled goddess of the hearth, a decidedly non-virginal Diana--”

“And whose fault is that, you unscrupulous Dionysius. You perverted Apollo. You overly prettified Vulcan!”

“--she's so amazing, she can get away with mixing pantheons. She is a queen, beloved and feared by all! Not dark but beautiful and terrible as the Morn! Treacherous as the Seas! Stronger than the foundations of the Earth!”

“All shall love me and despair!” Marinette finished on cue, before letting a stifled shriek express her indignation at being trapped into a movie lines recitation contest that has had a tendency to go out of control in the past.

“Is this what you missed, my lady?” her husband pressed with a cat got cream grin. “You missed my easy charm of untangling the tensest knots on your back?”

“You're a colossal dork, sacrificing sleep in an attempt to upstage me in front of my own daughter. Well, you shan’t! Quit while you're ahead.”

“I know right. What was I thinking? At the rate we’re going she'll have us wrapped around her fingers and she hasn't even started really interacting with us yet. We really are colossal dorks. Now let's go nap before she wakes us up in an hour.”

“You really are paragon, Adrien,” she murmured under her breath as she ambled after him.

Marinette supposed there were worse things to complain about one’s husband.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the cat son wanted [this specific model](http://www.drugstore.com/cloud-b-twilight-ladybug/qxp225918) of the constellation night light toy.


End file.
